


Lay to Rest

by withoutthetiger



Category: Castle
Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutthetiger/pseuds/withoutthetiger
Summary: When Richard Castle meets Kate Beckett four months after she was shot at her captain's funeral, he's catapulted into a decades-long conspiracy that has long haunted her. Working by her side and helping to solve the case may be the only way he can give her the closure she needs. A very AU take on the end of the JB case.





	1. One

He relies on his intuition more than many do, and probably more than he should while working under a captain for whom evidence is everything, but his insight fails him when he returns to his apartment that night, far too tired to sense anything different about the home he’d left before dawn. There are no goosebumps to offer their warning, no tingle to suggest he’s stumbled upon the unexpected. His perceptiveness may have been left at his precinct, or possibly in the lobby of his building, but one way or another, he notices nothing.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to see any more.

The door is barely locked behind him when he toes off his shoes and kicks them against the wall, his jacket tossed over the stone steps to his right as he moves through the entryway. And while he’s pretty sure he wants a drink, he’s also pretty sure he doesn’t have the energy to pour one. A long day – just the latest in several months full of them – has him shuffling forward until he can fall onto his couch, his closed eyes triggering a cascade of messy memories.

The October evening dragged up by his traitorous mind had followed a tauntingly perfect day in Southern California, the kind they put on postcards to sucker in the tourists and make other states jealous, not unlike the September day he’s just survived in New York. But the sunshine had gone largely unnoticed in Los Angeles while he and his homicide team had been working an impossible case, too many hours with too many dead ends too many days in a row keeping them from appreciating the beauty in much of anything. Castle had finally decided to send them home at a reasonable hour with the hope they could all rest and regroup, and knowing Alexis had been holed up at a friend’s house for most of the week, the teens obsessing over their upcoming AP exams, he hadn’t been expecting to see his daughter when he stepped through his front door for his own moment of peace.

And his wife hadn’t been expecting to see him.

That much had been clear from the glassy stare Meredith had offered over the naked shoulder of her director, her moan far from anything Castle had heard from her in quite some time. The stranger in their living room hadn’t even had the courtesy to turn around. Castle didn’t need to be a detective to know he’d lost her, probably long before that evening, and he’d supposed everything was as much his fault as hers; long hours spent with L.A.’s worst had taken their toll on him, and in turn, their marriage. A relationship that had been built upon cocktail hours and dreams had crumbled under the weight of the real world.

Whatever had happened in the immediate aftermath of his little interruption remains blurred, some primal defense mechanism that keeps him from remembering exactly how awful they were to each other, but by the following day, Meredith had checked into the Beverly Hilton and Castle had begun the search for a divorce lawyer. The split had happened as amicably as anything like it can, Alexis opting to stay with him while Meredith shrugged them off to continue chasing her Hollywood dreams. Months later, the divorce final and his daughter’s junior year wrapped up, Castle had accepted a transfer to the NYPD.

There has yet to be a day he hasn’t wondered why he didn’t give up on his career altogether.

Sure, he had been freed from a marriage that hadn’t made anyone happy in years and, with the help of his diva mother, he and Alexis had been able to move into a modest Tribeca apartment without selling a vital organ. Intelligent, self-driven, and outgoing, he’d fit in quickly with his new precinct, and Castle had even found time for a few nights on the town in between cases, the hum of the city luring him out later than anything on the west coast ever had. But none of it seemed to be enough, each morning offering very little reason to be excited about doing it all over again.

When he manages to shove the past aside once again, Castle’s head lolls against the couch pillow, the satisfaction of having closed a case countered by a restlessness he wants to shake. A glance at his watch tells him he’s only been home for a few minutes, if that, so he pushes himself up and heads down the short hallway to his room. He’ll freshen up a bit, then go grab a drink at the bar down the street; it’s better than drinking alone, but close enough that he can still return soon for some ever-elusive sleep. His practical plan, guided by logic and reason and the desire for the burn of whiskey, only unravels into something far less sound when he flips on the light, wanders toward his closet, and finally senses the disturbance. It’s a tap along his spine, a chill traveling to his fingertips, and his hand is reaching for his service weapon even as he spins to see the woman standing in the doorway of his bathroom.

Her hand flinches toward her own waist for a moment, pulled there by the ache of a phantom limb, but then she stares him down and he can see nothing but a green-gold flash of fury. “Don’t touch the gun. I’m a cop and this will go a lot better for you if you cooperate instead of making me clean your blood from my bedroom floor.”

“I’m a cop, too, and—“ Castle shakes his head and keeps a hand on the weapon, but stops before he actually draws on her. “Wait, _your_ bedroom floor? You’re in _my_ apartment. _My_ bedroom. If you’ve got a warrant for something, I’m gonna need to see that and a badge immediately.”

“Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD,” she snaps. “Who the hell are you?”

He pauses at her introduction, but uses his free hand to flip his badge open for her to see. “Detective Richard Castle, NYPD. And I still need some identification, Detective Beckett. Or do I get to be the one to show while you stand there and tell?”

“I think I—all my stuff is—I don’t know where I put my badge. I can’t seem to find any of my ID. Or my phone. Or anything else, actually.”

“How convenient,” he mutters, just before his eyes widen with a new thought. “This is a joke, isn’t it? The guys in L.A. set this up to freak me out about New York, right? I mean, it’s not their brightest idea, since I could’ve just shot first and asked questions later, but they probably figured I’d see a beautiful woman in my bedroom and ask her out before getting violent. So who put you up to this?”

If forced to describe the look on her face, he’s not sure he could. The anger and suspicion with which she’d greeted him are still dominating, but there’s confusion piercing the façade, an uncertainty lacking a voice and tumbling out as some sort of high-pitched growl instead. It’s as though she’s been caught in the middle of laughing, crying, and screaming, and while he can already tell he’s wrong about her appearance being a prank, Castle was exactly right to call her beautiful.

“Nobody put me up to anything. I came home to my apartment and found that it’s all different. The living room, kitchen…everything.” She sighs, but sears him with a glance when he starts to step toward her. “I ended up in here, like it was going to be any better, and then you showed up. So what is this? Am I being set up so none of us talk? Conveniently insane and easily discredited? If you wanted to kill me, you would have, so I assume you think I’ll be a pawn instead? Part of an ongoing game, just like Montgomery was?”

The way she’s abusing her lower lip has him looking for blood, but there’s something honest about it, a vulnerability that makes him doubt she’s lying about anything as she spits accusation after accusation. She could be insane, or just a really confused colleague of his, but one way or another Castle’s pretty sure she believes everything she’s said since he found her. A mostly innocent perusal of her body, clad in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, suggests that she isn’t hiding much of anything that could harm him and he feels as safe as anyone could while confronting a stranger in his bedroom.

“Okay, let’s just keep talking and figure this out,” he pleas, hands up as though she’ll be so easily assuaged “My gun will stay holstered, and I won’t get close enough to touch you, but we do need to solve whatever little mystery has developed in the apartment both of us think is ours.”

She rolls her eyes, but gestures for him to continue. “Go right ahead, Castle. Start at the beginning and explain how you found yourself in the middle of this nightmare.”

“Hey, don’t you think you should be the one to—“ One look at her has him swallowing the remainder of his question, his hand combing through his hair; he’s not sure anyone could write a scenario as ridiculous as this. “Okay, fine. Um, I lived in California until a few months ago, when I accepted a transfer to the NYPD. My mother has lived in Manhattan for decades and has the money and connections to show for it, so she helped get this apartment for my daughter and me. Now Alexis and I live here and this is my furniture and my bedroom. I work homicide out of the 1st, I’ve had a really long day, but you’re here and I don’t understand why. Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

With another eye roll, Beckett rattles off his address, the mailbox number, and the name of the super, all of which could have researched with relative ease. She throws him, though, when she’s able to tell him about a particularly obnoxious squeaky floorboard in the living room and a chip on the side of his bathroom sink. Her arms are crossed in front of her now, defensive and weary, prepared to fight and surrender at precisely the same time.

“I’ve lived here since my previous apartment blew up over a year ago after some random perv thought I was interesting enough to fixate upon. I’ve worked homicide out of the 12th for much longer than that, but things have been messed up there lately. A cold case warmed up and the conspiracy hit too close to home, and I really don’t feel like rehashing that if you don’t already know the story and want to silence me for my part in it.”

There’s pain bubbling in her chest and he swears he can almost see it. “Pretty sure I don’t know the story, and I wouldn’t dream of silencing you.”

“Suffice it to say my mom and my captain were murdered and the same people responsible wanted me dead. But I’m still here, so once I figure out where all my shit is, I’ll be picking up the investigation and getting justice.”

“That’s a risky declaration if you still think I’m involved somehow.” Castle’s stalling now, something about the details she’s shared starting to tug at him, needing him to pay better attention.

“Like I said, if you were planning to shoot me, you would have done it already,” she explains. “And I don’t think my plans to keep searching for the people responsible would come as a shock to anyone, so I’m not exactly divulging major intel. That said, I’m starting to doubt you’re part of a greater conspiracy than having moved into my apartment while I was out.”

“I can be rather charming.”

“Yes, that must be it. Now if you and your stunning personality can help figure out what’s going on, I’d really appreciate it.”

Her smirk is nothing less than derisive, but it doesn’t register for long, his focus now on the phone he’s pulled from his pocket. Castle feels his heart rate kick up, the adrenaline unexpectedly hot, and he barely notices that Beckett is still talking.

“Are you calling the 12th to check up on me? I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner, but that’s good. Ask for my—oh, I don’t know who’s running things right now, but ask for Detective Ryan or Esposito. One of them can help us sort this out. And I should probably talk to someone at the 1st about you. What’s your captain’s name?”

He’s looking at her again, studying her face – hell, her entire body – for some sign that what he’s just read is correct, why her name is familiar for all the wrong reasons.

“Back up, Beckett,” he says, somehow far more intrigued than scared. “What were you saying before?”

“Detectives Ryan and Esposito. They’re my team and they can help us.”

Castle shakes his head. “No, earlier. About your mother and your captain being killed. Montgomery, right?”

“Yeah, they were murdered, years apart. I got too involved and was shot by a sniper at Captain Montgomery’s funeral, but I’m not backing off. I’ve fought this battle for too long and I’m not about to—“

“Stop.” He’s careful not to spook her as he moves close, though that’s probably a crazy thought to have. Then again, all his thoughts feel a little crazy right now. But he turns his phone toward her and lets her read the headlines he’s found.

Her mouth falls open, but the words never come. It’s up to him to break the silence.

“Beckett, the people behind those murders didn’t just want you dead. You _are_ dead.”


	2. Two

Nothing in his academy training has prepared him for this moment, even if a lifelong love of ghost stories and urban legends has set him up perfectly. He’s stunned, though probably less affected than the woman standing – floating? – in front of him, and he’s not sure what else to say beyond the bombshell he’s already dropped on the hardwood floor of his bedroom.

Is he supposed to apologize? Offer condolences? Congratulate her?

He sort of wants to hug her, but he doesn’t know how that works between the living and the dead.

“I can’t be dead. That’s just stupid.”

His eyes flicker back to hers and he concentrates on replacing pity with something more reassuring. “Well, I don’t know about ‘stupid.’ Definitely wild, though. And the beginning of one hell of a murder mystery novel, so we could probably look into selling the rights if we want to make some quick cash. Although I guess you don’t have much use for money now, so I’m all alone on that one.”

“Shut up, Castle. And let me see your phone again.”

They’re only about a foot apart now and he can’t find any obvious sign that Beckett is not a living and breathing NYPD homicide detective; however, when he tries to give her the phone, it lands hard at his feet and suggests the absurd is becoming a little less so.

Both flinch at the crack of the case on the floor, but he manages to speak first. “You couldn’t hold onto it, could you? I mean, did you even feel it?”

Beckett is on her hands and knees, probably grasping for answers as much as the chance to pick up his phone, but swiping at the device gets her nowhere and she finally growls her resignation and stands to face off with him again.

“There’s a legitimate explanation for this.”

“You not being able to hold a solid object? Yes, the explanation is that you’re a ghost,” he affirms. “I’m a little confused about how you keep your clothes on because it seems like they’d be subject to the same supernatural laws and would just sort of float to the ground, but I’ll admit I’m not totally up on the details of this undead stuff. It could be a decency thing, I guess. Naked ghosts would be far more distracting. But that’s why you don’t have your gun or your phone or anything else. Anything unrelated to your appearance seems to have—“

“Jesus Christ, can you stop talking for two seconds? You’re like a nine-year-old on a sugar rush.” When she paces across the room, Castle can’t help but notice there’s no thump of frustrated footsteps, the silence haunting. “Stop with the how-to-dress-a-ghost-theories and tell me what you found on your phone.”

He doesn’t bother to pick it up, his search for her name enough to remind him of why it was familiar in the first place. “Like I said before, I’ve only been in New York for a few months, so I was still in L.A. when it happened. But it was big news around here and some of the guys were still talking about it after I arrived. Your captain – Montgomery, right? – he was killed in the line of duty, some big standoff in an airport hangar from what I heard. But you already know that part, huh? Anyway, you were giving the eulogy at his funeral when a sniper shot you. The scene was chaos, of course, all those cops on hand, but there wasn’t much anyone could do and you died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The youngest woman in the NYPD to make detective gunned down, the killer never caught. You made some pretty spectacular headlines and more than a few still hang in my precinct; I can’t imagine what it’s like in yours. Probably a damn shrine to both of you.”

Beckett’s shaking her head, willing his words away, but he’s spent enough time in interrogation rooms to be able to read people and there’s little doubt the story of her death is one she knows too well. And he’ll admit to some surprise at that; just minutes before he would have pegged her as the kind of skeptical hard-ass who would break long before she’d bend, evidence outweighed by the most basic logic that the dead and gone are just that. It makes him wonder how long ago her subconscious began to recognize that she hadn’t survived that May afternoon. How many silly objects couldn’t be held, how many people never acknowledged her presence. How ready she was for someone to confirm that terrible truth.

Vincit omnia veritas. Yeah, Beckett probably feels pretty damn conquered right now.

The abuse of her lip continues and a shaky hand presses against the center of her chest; Castle doesn’t remember those details, but he assumes she’s covering the fatal wound she’s prefer to deny. When she finally speaks again, the sharp edge of her voice has dulled into something he doesn’t like.

“I remember speaking at the funeral. Wanting to give Montgomery the goodbye he deserved, and hoping I could someday lead my own precinct with the same warm, quiet dignity with which he led his.” She swallows something uncomfortable, but he won’t pretend he knows what it’s like to reflect on being shot while burying a role model. “I don’t—I wish I could remember what happened next, maybe I could help us solve this thing, but it was all so crazy. I’m not even sure I’d say it hurt. Everything was too bright, too loud…the sky, the sun, the crowd—“

Another abrupt stop has him leaning forward to console her until he realizes his touch will have no effect at all; the pressure of his hand would go unnoticed, the intent behind it falling ridiculously short. All he can do is wait while she finds a way to choke out the rest of her story, everything on hold while she suffers a version of grief darker than most he witnesses, one that carries the guilt of being the one who died, instead of the one left behind.

“My father,” she sobs. “Oh god, Castle, what the hell did my father have to see? There was so much screaming, and he had to be one of them, but I don’t remember. Why don’t I remember? Why couldn’t I see anything but the sunlight?”

Castle shrugs, painfully aware he has nothing better to offer. “I don’t think I heard anything about him when people were talking about it. I know the other guys you mentioned—“

“Ryan and Espo.”

“Yeah. I guess they were standing up there with you during the eulogy, so they got to you first. And one of the M.E.s?”

“Lanie. Oh my god, Lanie. She’s gonna kill me.”

It’s not funny. None of the scene playing out before him, nor the memories being shared, are any reason to crack a smile, much less do anything else. Still, her own terrible choice of words snaps her in half and she doubles over in hysterical laughter, the sound light even as it’s clouded by the sight of tears streaking her too-pale cheeks.

He lets her ride it out, this wave of sadness and fear that he can’t fully comprehend, watching when she finally catches her breath and lowers herself to the floor. It’s another several seconds before he steps past her to slide down his bedroom wall and land with an uncomfortable thud, as close to her as he dares while she’s this fragile, a stranger he can’t touch but could probably break.

“If you make a list of people you want me to visit, friends or family or coworkers or whatever, I could do that.”

“Yeah, that would go over well, I’m sure,” she mutters. “Let them know the ghost of Kate Beckett says hello and hopes they’re doing well in the wake of her untimely demise.”

It’s Castle’s turn to growl. “That’s not exactly what I meant. I’m trying to help here. I can just swing by your precinct, see how they guys are doing there. Maybe ask about the M.E.”

“And my father?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answers. “Whatever you want. Whatever I can do.”

They’re quiet for quite a while after that, the ebb and flow of wordlessness sweeping them up again, but the subtlety of each breath, the banality of his heartbeat have somehow become distracting, reminders of the chasm between them. He’s been unable to look away, content to study each new emotion rippling across her face, even as he hates himself for wanting to remain close to her pain. And Castle is growing tired, but he can’t fathom sleep when there’s still more to learn about this beautiful stranger.

Tired.

Sleep.

“Wait a minute, Beckett,” he murmurs, unwilling to startle either of them after so many minutes of silence. “You were killed four months ago, so where have you been sleeping all this time? Or, I guess, you probably haven’t been sleeping per se, but you had to be spending your time _somewhere_ , right?”

“I’ve been at my dad’s cabin, mostly sitting by the lake and soaking up the summer sun. Recovering, or so I thought. Nobody else was up there, so it felt right, like a wonderful chance to be alone and figure out my shit. In hindsight, it seems so obvious; I don’t remember feeling any pain, don’t think I ever ate or drank or showered or slept. But when I was there, none of that mattered. It was just sunrises and trees and the dock I’d jumped from a million times as a kid. Trails I’d walked, bird songs I knew by heart. It was perfect, and maybe that should have been my first clue that everything was wrong.”

He huffs, somewhere between delighted by her recollection and very, very sad. “You must have been a damn good person to earn yourself purgatory with a view.”

“Depends on who you ask, I suppose. But now my purgatory has led me here.”

“Still not a bad view,” he teases, nudging her with his foot though neither of them can feel the contact.

She arches an eyebrow, but her tone is softer than expected. “No, it’s not. But why am I back in my old apartment? Is it because it was my home? Did I leave something behind? Am I just looking for a way back to the life I had?”

Castle holds her stare, hoping there’s an easy answer in his eyes or hers, a way to make this all better. He’d meant what he’d said earlier, he does want to help her in any way he can, but what can he possibly do for the dead woman by his side? She has so many questions and there’s such little he can offer in response. Hasn’t her story already come to an end?

And then it occurs to him that perhaps it hasn’t ended. Her story. Her captain’s. Her mother’s. Three lives cut tragically short, but three stories yet to come to a close, the final chapters still unwritten. He knows then that she hasn’t returned to her apartment because of the building itself or any miscellaneous object within.

“It’s because of me.”

Beckett scoffs. “Come on, I already conceded that you’re not terrible to look at, but you really want to argue that I’ve held on to some version of my human form just for the chance to hang out in your bedroom?”

“While I like the sound of that, it wasn’t my point,” he smiles, excited by a case for the first time since his divorce. Since long before that, really. And he’s aware they barely know each other and she’s unlikely to want to work with him, but he’s also aware she doesn’t have much choice. “I meant that I can help solve all three murders. You said you were after justice with no plans to back off no matter how dangerous it got, and lucky for you, I’m just as crazy and stubborn.”

“Yes, lucky for me, a total stranger ready to fight my battles,” she sighs, the pause that follows almost painful. “Okay, fine, but I don’t know who took over at the 12th, so even though I think I could get Ryan and Espo on board, I’m not sure they’d be able to sneak around with a brand new captain.”

“What about going to the new captain for support? A full team on this?”

“No way,” she snaps. “We’re talking high-level conspiracy here and I don’t trust anyone else on this. I don’t even like putting the boys in the crosshairs, so maybe they shouldn’t be involved. And I don’t really know how the hell you can go at it alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got you.”

“So, what, you think we’re going to be partners now?”

“Of course not,” he answers. “You can be my plucky sidekick.”

“The plucky sidekick always gets killed, Castle.”

He’s pretty sure she’s setting him up, but he can’t resist. “Well, then, I guess there’s nothing to worry about.”

“No, I guess not,” she replies. “But I think I like the other idea better.”

And with that, she holds out her hand so they can shake, the somber smirk on her face enough to acknowledge that they won’t be able to touch the way anyone else would; his nod recognizes that harsh reality, a world he doesn’t understand, but has been quick to accept.

“Partners then.”


	3. Three

“Didn’t you say something about a daughter? Is she here now?” Beckett hisses, worried in a way easily distinguished from the more exhausted fear that she likes to hide with righteous indignation.

They’re still sitting on his bedroom floor, a tentative partnership formed just moments ago, but it’s a fair question, something easily answered before they start poking at three unsolved murders.

“Yes, I have a daughter. No, she’s not here now.” Castle reassures her with a smile first, then explains. “Her name is Alexis, and she and my mother went out for dinner and a show, likely topped off with Broadway gossip and other assorted late-night girl talk at my mother’s loft. Alexis is a senior in high school and a saint for accompanying me across the country when my ex and I divorced, though I think her decision was more about getting a taste of New York City than about helping her dad through a rough patch.”

“Do you think she’ll be able to see me, too?”

He shrugs. “I kinda doubt it’s a genetic thing. Like I said before, I’d guess it’s about my being able to help you solve this case.”

“And you won’t tell her about me?” she asks.

“I hadn’t thought about it one way or another. I mean, I’m pretty open and honest with her, but it’s also not exactly my business to tell. If you’d rather she not know, I can keep it a secret.” His head tips with curiosity. “What about your family? You only mentioned your father, so was there no significant other? Any siblings? Kids?”

“No husband or boyfriend or kids or siblings. Just my father,” she responds. “Kind of pathetic, I guess, but I think the 12th had become family as much as anyone else.”

“Well, that brings up the next question: Do you want your team to know you’re here? Or am I supposed to start investigating while nobody can know there’s a ghost in my apartment? Keeping that quiet will be hard, but it may be necessary. The only reason you’re willing to listen to my crazy theories is because you _are_ the ghost.”

Beckett’s glare is sharp and he almost wonders whether she drew blood. “Stop calling me that. We’re not living out some campfire story or a late-night horror flick.”

“Well, you’re not really living at –” he stops himself, probably too late, and has the good sense to look sheepish and gesture for her to continue.

“Jumping into this case as an outsider is going to be difficult, but I’ll prep you with information about Ryan and Esposito so you can play to their personalities. You can’t tell them anything about my involvement because it’s absurd and there’s no way two detectives I’ve helped train will believe I’ve come back from the dead.” She tilts her head and his attention is caught by the deep crease between her eyes. “I may be able to give you some reason to care about me, too. A story about an officer from my past you can use as an excuse for wanting to help, some good reason why you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Without that, they may not talk to you at all.”

He’s eager to get started, but a poor attempt at stifling a yawn reminds them both that it’s late and at least one of them needs legitimate sleep; they only continue talking long enough for him to get the basics, a way into the first conversation he needs to have.

After that, they work out some ground rules in a bizarre battle for the territory they both claim as their own, Castle respecting her need to grieve for the private space she’d lost some time after her last breath, while Beckett agrees to stay out of the bedrooms and bathrooms now belonging to him. She’s unable to touch, move, or reorganize any of his things, and it probably wouldn’t have been a concern of his anyway, but he’s pretty sure she needs some element of control, some boundaries in a world now otherwise lacking them.

Besides, he’s grown used to sleeping alone.

Castle snaps the door shut behind her once she disappears down the hall and then scoffs at his own high hopes; sleep will be hard to come by after the night he’s had and he can only imagine the hours he’ll spend staring at his ceiling, preparing to work case that has probably been cold for weeks for a woman who has been dead even longer than that.

* * *

 

The 12th precinct isn’t familiar to him and he’s not known by anyone stationed there, but Castle’s still a cop and it’s not hard to wind his way past a few suspicious glances and a question or two, landing himself in the middle of the 4th floor bullpen shortly after his arrival. He has the day off, but a quick scan of the area finds Detectives Esposito and Ryan at their desks; with any luck, they’ll be willing to hear him out.

Stepping toward what appears to be an intense game of paper football, Castle clears his throat just after Ryan scores and he offers his badge with something of an apology. “Richard Castle. I hate to interrupt, but I work homicide out of the 1st and I was hoping to talk to you guys for a few minutes about an old case of yours.”

Esposito doesn’t seem thrilled to cut the game short for a stranger, work-related or not, but Ryan nods toward a chair. “Sure, we’ve got a few to spare. What case?”

“Kate Beckett.”

Just two words, a common enough name, broken off gently at the end of the second t, but the sound has Esposito twice as pissed and his partner fidgeting in a way that must make him a blast on stakeouts. For a moment, Castle wonders whether he’s already blown his chance, but he forces himself to remain steady for the interrogation he deserves.

“Unless you’re ready to hand us her killer, you might want to reconsider tossing Detective Beckett’s name around so casually,” Esposito growls. “Talking about her isn’t high on our list of things to do today.”

“I get it. I really do,” he swears. “And I know it’s been a while since she was killed, so it makes no sense for me to show up now, but I feel like I need to be here and I want to help in whatever I way I can.”

“Help with what? We had no leads and our new captain closed the case,” Ryan explains. “It’s done.”

Finally settling into a seat, Castle wheels as close as he dares before he launches into his lie, recalling some of what Beckett had shared with him the night before. “Yeah, I figured it was closed, but look, I recently transferred here from the LAPD and I knew a friend of Detective Beckett’s out there. Mike Royce? He was working as a bounty hunter here in the city for a while, and I’m not sure whether she ever mentioned him to you, but he was a good guy who took some wrong turns and got himself killed not long before she died. Anyway, I heard a lot of stories about her from him and I guess I feel like I can’t just sit back and do nothing now.”

“Yeah, we met Royce on a case, know about what happened to him. But we still don’t _you_ ,” Esposito snaps, his eyes narrowed as he looks to Ryan to back him up.

And while Beckett had explained that Ryan was going to be the easier of the two to convince, the partnership doesn’t crack. At least not yet. “Yeah, man. We’re sorry, but you’re showing up too late to do much anyway. One more set of eyes isn’t going to help when there’s nothing to see. A lot of manpower was spent on too many dead leads and Gates will knock us back to traffic if she catches us looking into the case without a legitimate break.”

“But I know you guys had to be close to her, right? Like brothers,” Castle pushes, angling for some emotional pull. “There’s no way you’ve completely let this go. You have to be revisiting this on your own time, intent on getting the justice she deserves.”

Esposito leans in, his voice raw. “Don’t pretend you understand anything about our relationship to Detective Beckett or the kind of justice she deserves. It hurt bad to lose our captain, but losing Beckett fucked us up, and there is nothing we wouldn’t do to make everything right again. The problem is that we don’t have shit to go on and a California cop who never even met her isn’t gonna do anything but get us busted in our own precinct. Maybe you’re a nice guy, but just do us a favor and forget about this. We’ll call you if we ever need a tour guide in Hollywood.”

Rising slowly, searching for an honest plea that won’t betray the woman waiting for him at home, Castle chances one last approach before he leaves. “Look, you’re right that I never had the honor of meeting Detective Beckett when she was alive. I’m a stranger from the other side of the country and you guys are her family, so I don’t blame you for being pissed that I’m here. But I’ve come across pictures of her, read articles, and heard stories for months, and now – god, it’s like I can actually _see_ her, and maybe it just feels like it’s hitting too close to home for me, but I really want to help solve this for her. For all of you.”

He tosses his card onto Ryan’s desk, silently imploring him until he finally shuffles away without another word. They can call if they change their minds about letting him in, but he’s not sure he can stare down the pain clouding their tired eyes. Instead, he’ll go home and face the pain in Beckett’s.

* * *

 

She’s disappointed, of course, but there’s very little surprise when he recounts his brief meeting with Ryan and Esposito. Castle supposes he’d gone to the 12th with higher hopes than she’d dared; naivete tends to have that effect.

“But you said Ryan was eager to please, a puppy who got along with everyone and would be open to the help of a stranger,” he whines, angry that he was stopped before he could even start. “I barely said anything and Esposito was damn near ready to rip out my throat.”

“I said Ryan was going to be more open than Espo,” Beckett clarifies. “But the eager-to-please part of him also makes him less likely to defy his captain’s orders if he thinks there’s a real chance of getting in trouble for it.”

“Do you know her, this Captain Gates?”

Beckett chews at her lip, an anxious tell he’s observed far too many times already. “No, I don’t, and I’m not about to pull her into a mess that already involves unknown levels of NYPD corruption. Still, it might not be a bad idea for you to pull up the basics about her so we at least know who’s bossing the boys around. We may need her help eventually.”

A quick nod acknowledges her request. “And what’s our next step in getting cooperation from your team? It’s going to be hard to work this without knowing what’s in the case file and you can only help so much. Should I wait until the guys are separated and try to talk to Ryan alone? Swear my involvement will remain a secret and hope his loyalty to you outweighs his desire to color between the lines?”

“Yeah, that might work. For now, let’s set that problem aside and I’ll fill you in on more of the background. To really understand this, we’ve got to go back years.”

“To your mother’s case?”

“What led up to her murder and all the dominoes that fell afterward,” she confirms as they pace side by side in his living room. “Maybe talking it out will give us some ideas about how to drag Ryan back in. I understand him not wanting to break rules, but it sounds like he was even more cautious than I’d anticipated, so we’ll have to figure out a way to convince him. A way for _you_ , the Hollywood tour guide, to convince him.”

Castle goes to nudge her shoulder with his, the frustration he’d carried home dulled by her teasing, but catches himself when he remembers they can’t make contact, saving them both the embarrassment of him tumbling into the space her body doesn’t actually occupy. She spends the next several hours explaining the history of the deaths of Johanna Beckett, Roy Montgomery, and herself, giving up on any attempt to smother her annoyance when he interrupts to ask questions that she apparently plans to answer in her own time. And while it’s true that she has plenty of time to spare, he has to be back at work in the morning, so as sun goes down and he’s still being educated - sated only by unhealthy snacks he grabs while she speaks - he’s ready to call it a night.

A sharp knock at the door ends the conversation before he can.

“Are you expecting someone?” she whispers, though he’s pretty sure nobody would be able to hear her anyway.

“No, but duck into my room just in case and I’ll see who it is. Maybe it’s a friend who doesn’t know Alexis decided to stay with her grandmother for another night. Or someone delivering a pizza we didn’t order.”

Silence carries Beckett away and Castle hurries to the peephole, his mouth agape when he sees the face on the other side of the door. He’s even more shocked when he opens it and reads the initials of three homicide victims scrawled on the side of the file boxes held in front him.

_JB. RM. KB._

Everything he’d wanted from his unannounced visit to Beckett’s precinct that morning, all the paperwork they need before they can start an investigation of their own. And help from where he hadn’t expected it.

“Detective Esposito, come on in.”


	4. Four

Detective Esposito grunts a hello and marches into the living room before dropping the boxes onto the coffee table with no concern for the decorative candles Alexis had placed there several weeks ago; the resulting rattle resembles the beat of Castle’s heart. With Beckett’s encouragement, Castle had held onto to the chance of convincing Ryan to help with a side investigation into the Beckett-Montgomery-Beckett conspiracy, but he definitely hadn’t expected to be offering late-night coffee to the same guy who’d seemed to hate him just hours before.

Esposito declines the caffeine, but asks Castle for a shot of something strong.

As he’s handing back an empty glass, Esposito looks around at the apartment. “Wanna tell me how you got this place?”

“How I—” Oh. Shit. _Shit._ Castle had been so surprised by the sudden appearance of the case files that he hadn’t given any thought to Esposito finding him at Beckett’s old apartment. He shrugs with forced nonchalance and summons whatever ability to improvise he might have inherited. “I rented it, same as most tenants do when they need somewhere to live. My mother’s loft is nearby, so she helped keep an eye out for any great deals that became available and we were able to grab this at the end of May. Not a bad place for a detective, huh?”

It takes several seconds for Esposito to respond, his eyes narrowed, but he finally nods. “Yeah, I saw that she cosigned your lease. Must be nice having family money.”

“It can be,” Castle responds.

“And you changed your last name.”

Unsurprisingly, someone has done his homework. “Long story and a longer-lost dream.”

After one more glance around the room, Esposito mutters something under his breath and Castle is grateful that he’s not being pushed any further. If Esposito isn’t going to acknowledge that they’re facing off in his dead colleague’s apartment, Castle is all too willing to let it slide for as long as he can.

Eventually, Esposito nods at the row of ceramic elephants he’d pulled from the box and placed atop the table. “Most of the stuff left on Beckett’s desk was regular office crap, just a bunch of pens, paper clips, that sort of thing. But she had this little family there for as long as I knew her and I didn’t want them getting trashed by some asshole stranger going through her things.” He pauses to glare. “I still don’t.”

“Got it, Detective. I’ll be careful with the herd.”

“Be careful with all of it,” Esposito warns. “I don’t really care whether you get yourself killed while on this charity crusade of yours, but Beckett’s case actually means something to me and it would be great if you could keep from screwing it up.”

Castle lowers himself to the chair in front of where Esposito has made himself comfortable on the couch. “Don’t get me wrong because I am very grateful that you’re here, but _why_ are you here? You obviously don’t like me. And your partner must not be on board or you would’ve tasked him with this little visit. So, what changed your mind?”

Too many emotions flash in the darkest parts of Esposito’s eyes, but he blinks hard before responding. “I don’t like you because I don’t _know_ you, but I spent the afternoon doing a little digging into your past. Something still feels off, but I’ve got connections both inside and outside the department and was able to confirm that you’re probably who you say you are with the motives you say you have.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t fully believe anybody anymore.”

There’s no great way to respond, too much understanding of the situation would tip his hand, so Castle mumbles some sort of concession and waits for more of the story. Something beyond a basic background check must have led Esposito to his door, and it doesn’t take more than a second for him to hear it.

“And my partner is _not_ on board and will _not_ find out I handed these files over to you. I don’t know why he’s so against pushing this case forward, even if it seems like a lost cause right now, but doing nothing for Beckett is just pissing me off and I need help here. You’re far from my first choice, but If Ryan won’t go rogue with me, I might as well use you.”

“But you’re sure you can trust him, right?”

It’s a stupid question to ask, or at least the wrong time to ask it, and for a moment Castle wonders whether Esposito is about to yank the file boxes out from under him and take his chances alone; he looks angry enough to do it. Instead, the answer is just spit at him.

“I trust Ryan with my life and Beckett did, too. Say something like that again and we’re done.” Castle tightens his jaw and nods. “He’s just a good Catholic boy who doesn’t want to rock the boat and doesn’t think we have enough evidence to get anywhere with an investigation anyway.”

“Do you?” Castle wonders aloud.

“No, not really. But you can see for yourself. Everything we have – officially and unofficially – is in those files, so catch up and I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” And with that, Esposito heads for the door with the same steady stride with which he arrived, pivoting only when he’s about to be locked out. “Remember, this never happened. I was never here.”

“You have my word. Thanks.”

It should be enough, probably would be for anyone else, but this arrangement seems built upon anger and Esposito tosses one final threat his way. “If you tell Ryan I did this, I’ll make you bleed.”

“Understood.”

* * *

 

“You can stop your terrible game of hide and seek now. I know you were listening to that entire conversation.”

Beckett drifts back into his living room, glancing toward the door with a melancholic shadow cast across her face. It makes her no less beautiful, but reminds Castle that this is so much more than a homicide investigation for her, makes him hold onto the responsibility of solving it with the kind of tenderness he thought he’d lost in California years ago.

“He’s really not a bad guy, Castle. Not at all.”

“Didn’t say he was.”

“No, but there’s tension between you two and I don’t want it to be a problem,” she explains with a sigh. “While underestimating Ryan’s caution, I think I also underestimated Espo’s loyalty to me. Coming to you was a big deal for him, but as much as he needs help, it’s not going to be easy for him to trust anyone right now, not after what our team has been through. This being my old apartment probably shook him even more. So, let’s take a look at what they have and we’ll go from there.”

Before he pulls any paperwork from the box he’s already moved to the couch, he arranges the elephants along the surface of the coffee table and takes her silence as tacit approval of their temporary home. Maybe when this gets wrapped up and the files are shelved forever, he can send the figurines to Beckett’s dad. Or perhaps Esposito will soften enough to want them back. Either way, they’re less important than the details awaiting them in the case reports, so he begins to read from the scrawled notes and Beckett studies him from where she paces.

“Okay, it looks like the Department of Defense told them that the gun used to kill you had been issued to a Navy SEAL who was killed in action seven years ago. Not a big surprise, his gun wasn’t found back then and seems to ended up in some shitty hands. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be anything else that can help us out with an ID right now. DNA on the weapon didn’t match anyone in the system, so that’s a dead end. No pun intended.”

“Well, there’s the possible military connection, which isn’t a huge shock when looking for a sniper, but it’s worth remembering,” Beckett interjects. “And Espo has contacts that might be able to help with that angle later.”

Castle agrees, but quickly moves on. “A lot of the witnesses questioned at the cemetery said they noticed a man in a groundskeeper’s uniform behind the trees around the time of the shooting, but the maintenance staff said no employees should have been in the area, so that was probably the shooter. With all the chaos after you went down, nobody managed to find him when it mattered, nobody came up with a description that would help distinguish him from the majority. They ran facial recognition programs and searched license plates pulled from surveillance cameras, but got nothing from those either.”

“And if the guy was a hired assassin, he could be long gone by now. Out of the damn country, even. If there’s not a bigger connection here and his job is done now that I’m dead, there’d be no reason for him to stick around and we’ll never catch him.”

“Look, I get that you want the man directly responsible for killing you, but you also want to bring this ‘dragon’ down, right?. So, we figure out who hired the sniper and bust the whole case open from the top down instead,” Castle counters. “Based on what they noted here, the guys looked into money trails, but then–”

As his voice fades and he thumsb through the stack of papers in search of something Esposito shoved between the folders, Beckett jumps in. “There are a lot of money trails to trace, though. Not just my shooter. We’ve gotta go back and track the accounts tied to Montgomery, Raglan, and McCallister, find the money they were paid after my mom was killed.”

“They found nothing on the sniper money, which isn’t a surprise when nobody knows the identity of either side of that particular transaction. But your boys did have the same idea about Montgomery and the others,” he explains, waving a post-it in the air, the detectives wary about adding anything about the conspiracy to the official case notes when there’s no telling who else could be involved. “Unfortunately, the bank handling the blood money for those three closed down shortly after your mother died. I’m sure they cashed out instead of calling more attention to themselves.”

“Okay, but those records must be kept somewhere, right? So, we switch gears and track those down now.”

He shakes his head as he keeps reading, Beckett’s frustration landing squarely upon his shoulders. “There was a fire at the warehouse just a few weeks later. Everything was destroyed, nothing to track down.”

“And the cause?”

“Ruled accidental. Faulty wires. There’s a copy of the inspector’s report here.”

Beckett freezes, her eyebrows arched as she stares him down. “Bullshit. First, the bank that could have delivered solid ties to the son of a bitch holding this all together closes down immediately after three payoffs are made. Then, by total coincidence and nothing more sinister, the warehouse with that bank’s records goes up in flame, leaving us with no leads. Again.”

“No leads yet,” Castle corrects. “What if Esposito and I talk to the fire investigator, press him on the accuracy of his findings? We’ll keep Ryan out of it and question him together.”

“You think the guy would even remember the details after all this time?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I’d say he’s a lot more likely to remember if he was pressured into a phony report. Or if he received a monetary reward for his trouble.”

“But if he was paid off, why would he tell you the truth now?” Beckett argues.

He shrugs before pointing out an important part of her own story. “Detective Raglan reached out to you when he knew he was dying, figured it was a good time to clear his conscience. Montgomery came clean before he died. It’s been a really long time and this inspector may be ready to lighten his load, let go of the sins of the past.”

She nods along and it strikes him how quickly they’ve found a rhythm, a challenging back and forth that keeps him on his toes and hungry for answers. There’s nothing exactly _wrong_ with his partner at the 1st, but working with Beckett gives him something more and it’s a bit of a shock when he reminds himself she only appeared in his life 24 hours ago. Reality has been altered by the way she’s spilled her story into his open arms, all the bittersweet memories and jagged revelations alternately soothing and scarring him as she speaks with a voice only he can hear. He’s already learned so much, and he’s utterly captivated; Castle wants to know everything, from the mundane to the extraordinary, for however long she’ll continue to share. He’s convinced that in another world she’d never allow him in so easily.

But then his chest clenches when he remembers that their time together is limited, bound only by whatever has her tethered to his home, the intangible urgency making it difficult to breathe. And maybe it’s only the unusual nature of the case that has his passion reignited, his mind sharp for the first time in far too long. Perhaps the immediate bond with her exists solely in his imagination, no more real than the woman herself, but their partnership already hurts as much as it has him grateful for the spark she’s brought into his life.

It’s too late to bring anything into hers.


	5. Five

It’s been a few days since Esposito showed up unexpectedly with the boxes of case files for Castle, but the two detectives have yet to find the opportunity to break away from their own duties to meet up for an ambush of the warehouse fire investigator. Not only is Castle working a new case – a legitimately warm one assigned by his captain - but Esposito is dodging a partner who remains in the dark and Castle can’t admit the urgency created by the gorgeous ghost who has become his house guest. With more honest communication all around, they might have found a new lead by now, but their respective secrets have them stuck.

Being stalled on that front does give him time to stop by the law firm at which Jim Beckett works, a couple of easy lies allowing him a few minutes of conversation with the man without arousing suspicion about anything otherworldly. And while he has no idea what he was like before he lost his daughter, Castle is able to report back to Beckett that her dad looks healthy and is keeping busy with a full caseload. Maybe more importantly, Jim wears the watch Beckett had kept for years; Castle had specifically been on the lookout for it after learning its history and suggested to Beckett that her dad seems strong enough to save his own life now.

Family welfare updates aside, Castle’s feelings about having to keep their investigation on hold are complicated and growing more so by the day. Late nights and little sleep have afforded him the chance to learn more about Beckett, from the horrific dark of the rabbit hole that claimed her life to the quiet dreams she shared with him when she reminisced about wanting to be the first female Chief Justice. In turn, she’s stayed close as he’s revealed the disaster of his divorce and the bright light in his daughter that will always carry him forward. She seemed surprised by his admission that he’d wanted to be a writer before he’d joined the academy, then opened up about how much mystery novels and their tidy endings had helped her through the aftermath of her mother’s death.

He knows there is so much more to Beckett’s story, and wants to spill all of his, but the ache vibrating from her very presence reminds him that he has to push forward until these cases are solved. Growing too close to her won’t help anyone at all.

And as he shares a late dinner with Alexis, most of his Chinese takeout lukewarm after too much thinking and too little eating, he realizes hiding his emotions from his daughter will take more effort than he has bothered to give.

“Is it a huge case or a beautiful woman?”

Castle does his best to blink away the surprise at her question, then holds up his fork. “It’s orange chicken. Want some?”

“Nice try,” she snorts. “What has you so distracted?”

“Distracted?”

“And stalling. Interrogation 101 suggests that a suspect parroting a detective’s questions is probably hiding something and stalling for more time.”

“Why would I be hiding and stalling?”

“Still parroting, dad,” she points out. “You obviously don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but you can barely eat, you’ve checked your phone more times that I can count, and you keep staring off into the corner of the living room with a really strange look on your face, like you can’t decide whether you’re happy or sad. I’ve hardly been home lately and I’ve still noticed the changes in you, so whatever it is must be pretty significant.”

She’s wrong about very little, of course. He’s awaiting word from Esposito about whether they can duck out during lunch tomorrow for a trip to where Rod Halstead is stationed; their planned chat should be short enough to squeeze into a break without attracting suspicion. And he can’t really help but stare at Beckett, his partner having claimed a spot next to the window where the curtain has been inched to the side for her benefit. She spends her time gazing at the city, he spends his gazing at her. So, yeah, it’s all bittersweet and more than a little significant.

“It’s a big case involving a beautiful woman.”

Alexis winces. “Yikes. A double whammy for you. Is the woman the victim or the loved one left behind?”

“Both,” Castle responds, rushing to clarify when his daughter’s brows furrow. “Her mother was killed first, then she was killed years later. Obviously, I want to solve every case, get justice for every victim, but this has hit me hard and I’m sorry for being so out of it.”

“No need to apologize. What you do is hard, really difficult, and you’ve been burned out for a while now.” She gets up to toss her empty containers in the trash, then wraps her arm around his shoulders. “What happened to this woman is terrible, but I’m glad you care enough to fight for her. Just try to take care of yourself, too.”

He nods, grateful for a daughter who has weathered the past year with little trouble, even as he has struggled to find a new normal. Then he looks over to Beckett and remembers that ‘normal’ doesn’t describe much of anything right now.

* * *

 

It’s early afternoon the next day when Castle and Esposito interrupt the arson investigator, Rod Halstead, and hand over the copy of warehouse fire report. The good news is that he remembers the fire after only a minute of reviewing his notes; the bad news is that he has nothing else to offer. Halstead tries to return the report, but Castle pushes it back.

“This report hasn’t been altered in any way since you filed it?”

The investigator takes another look, just enough to humor them. “No, why?”

Esposito jumps in before Castle can. “Mr. Halstead, this is very important. Was there anything that you didn’t put in that report? Anything that might indicate suspicious activity?”

“Well, if there was anything suspicious, Detective, it would be in the report. Power surge to the junction box. One in a million event.”

He hands the file back to Castle, far more forcefully than he had the first time around, and Castle accepts it before turning to leave. It’s only when he starts to take a step that he realizes Esposito isn’t done asking questions.

“So, at no point did anyone pressure you into keeping information out of that report?”

“You are way out of line here,” Halstead growls, looking at Castle with a silent command to get Esposito the hell off his turf.

Unfortunately, Esposito has no intention of moving and Castle doesn’t know him well enough to force him; calling more attention to themselves with an all-out brawl seems like a bad idea.

Of course, Esposito running his mouth isn’t much better.

“I’m out of line? I’m not the one that falsified that report.”

“Get out of my station,” comes another demand.

“Who set that fire? Who had you covering—”

“Get out!”

Whether it’s the undisguised threat in the investigator’s tone or whether Esposito finally grasps the severity of the situation all on his own, Castle is finally able to tug him away and mumble some sort of apology to Halstead as they hurry toward Esposito’s car. The two men are hopped up on adrenaline and disappointment, and the key is barely in the ignition when Castle tries to speak.

“Look, Espo—”

“Not a word, bro,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word.”

And so they remain silent, even the radio kept off and the windows rolled shut, the sound of the world muted as much as is possible in the city. Castle limits his fidgeting from the passenger seat, worried that any movement could get him tossed onto the street and reflects instead on the failure of their interview attempt and where they can possibly go from here. Beckett’s sure to be upset, and if there’s anything he’s come to realize in the short time he’s known her, it’s that she deserves to rest in peace.

Today’s dead end won’t help with that.

After several minutes, Esposito eases toward the 12th and Castle catches a glimpse of the man positioned in front of the building. For a moment he wonders whether he has time to duck, or possibly roll out of the car and into traffic, but he decides to speak up instead, his warning important enough to interrupt the imposed quiet.

“Looks like your partner is waiting for us,” Castle announces. “And I would have guessed you carry most of the anger around here, but he seems pretty pissed off right now.”

Esposito doesn’t bother responding and Castle can’t decide whether the man’s focus has been pulled toward Kevin Ryan or whether it’s still staring back at how terribly they handled things with the arson investigator. It isn’t until they’re parked and Esposito slams his door shut before Castle has even opened his that he realizes there’s about to be another confrontation. He hurries to join them, both as a fan of workplace drama and as an acknowledgment of his role in this mess, catching the end of Ryan’s high-pitched question.

“— how the hell am I supposed to cover your ass when I don’t even know what the hell you’re up to?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be willing to cover it at all, bro. You haven’t exactly been stepping up to help me on this, so I’m stuck working with a stranger.”

Castle’s pretty sure he should be offended, but Esposito isn’t wrong. He shrugs innocently and asks, “What happened, Ryan?”

“Apparently two guys went rogue and interrogated a fire investigator in his own station,” Ryan answers with a glare. “As you can imagine, the hardworking investigator without a single proven blemish on his record was just a bit angry at the sudden appearance by strangers and their need to harass him with an unfounded accusation.”

“Okay, it may not have been the best approach,” Castle agrees, “but it was all we had to go on, and there’s something important in what you just said. There’s no _proven_ blemish on his record, so we were out for proof and – wait, how did you know where we were?”

“Halstead called Gates,” Esposito mutters.

“Your captain. Shit.”

Ryan levels Castle with another look. “Shit is about right, yeah. As in, that’s what my partner has been feeding me for the past few days. And that’s what I just had to wade through in an attempt to save his ass with Gates.”

“I get it and I’m sorry, man,” Esposito says, the apology mostly sincere, even as it holds on to a thread of anger. “I should have involved you, but you’ve made it pretty clear you wanted to stay away from Beckett’s case and I needed the chance to do something. I know it won’t bring her back, but working her mother’s case wasn’t gonna bring _her_ back either and you didn’t see Beckett bailing on that.”

“You make it sound like I don’t care, Javi, and you know better,” Ryan argues. “I care enough that I want to keep us safe until we have a legit lead, not some manufactured allegation about a warehouse fire from 12 years ago. Beckett didn’t bail on her mom’s murder and it got her killed. I’d rather you and I not end up the same way.”

“Fine, then Castle and I will do the heavy lifting and you can wait until the coast is clear.”

Castle raises a hand and attempts to quiet them both. “Okay, kids, we’re not gonna get anywhere by arguing about who loved Beckett more than whom, and I’m sure both of you meant the world to her. Ryan, what exactly happened in there with Gates?”

“Like I said, the arson investigator you ambushed called her to complain about you two. Sounds like he assumed you’re his partner,” Ryan muttered, nodding to Castle. “The good news is that Gates has no idea who you are, and Esposito is a common enough name that I was able to convince her the investigator had the wrong precinct. She thinks you went out to grab something to eat. Hope it was good.”

“Unless Halstead pushes the complaint any further, we should be in the clear,” Esposito points out.

“Clear to do what, exactly?” Ryan snaps back.

And while Castle doesn’t want to admit it, the question is a good one. Most of the people they’d interrogate are already dead, the money trails seem to have faded into nothing, and they can’t request official help from the NYPD when they don’t know who else could be compromised. Both he and Beckett had hoped this one small lead would be the way to get the case back on track, because neither of them can figure out what other angle to pursue.

“I have to get back to work,” Castle says with a frown, “so let’s regroup and talk later. All of the case details are still pretty new to me, so I’ll review the notes again and see if I can figure out—”

“You gave him the files? Jesus, Javi, maybe you should post a banner outside to tell the world you’re digging into a huge murder conspiracy and then leave your door unlocked overnight to make it even easier for them to shut you up.”

Castle opens his mouth to defend himself – or Esposito, perhaps – but thinks better of it and just offers a quick wave as he backs away from the bickering partners.

He’ll have enough trouble of his own when he returns home.

* * *

 

There are probably several drawbacks to conducting a triple homicide investigation alongside a dead woman, but highest on Castle’s list tonight is his inability to offer any real consolation as Beckett crumbles onto his living room floor, her disappointment too heavy for her slight shoulders to bear. She lived years with little hope, and certainly didn’t gain much more in the few months following her murder, but he thinks some unwanted optimism may have crept her way when she stumbled into his apartment. And while she’d told him how hard they’d already worked her mother’s case – and how obsessed she’d been for years – he knows some part of her wanted to believe that a new set of eyes on the files would the break they needed.

He sighs as he sits to face Beckett, all too aware that he’s broken nothing but the woman who haunts his days as much as his nights. They talk for quite a while, whispers that won’t wake his sleeping daughter, half-hearted as they bounce theories back and forth, most of the ideas old and set aside long ago.

It’s too much to ask, actually impossible within their phantom reality, but Castle wants to solve the riddle behind a twelve-year conspiracy and take her out to celebrate at his favorite bar. He wants to whisk her away from all of this and buy her the perfect cup of coffee and tell her dumb jokes until she finally gives up a smile. He wants to get justice and tease her about who is the better detective and congratulate her after she kicks his ass at the gym and make her laugh when he makes a walrus face with french fries in the middle of their lunch break.

Really, he just wants her.


	6. Six

For all their concern about finding another lead to chase, their big break in the case is practically gifted to them just two days later, years of betrayal and bribes unraveling in the wake of one seemingly random murder, the victim left in an alley.

Again.

Ryan and Esposito were the ones who got the call and responded to the scene to find Orlando Costas and his lock picks, following up from there to track down the man’s history with the Cazadores and his subsequent time in the military. They questioned his girlfriend and made little progress with her, though she gave them just enough information to help find the car Costas had been driving before he was killed and the phone he’d left inside. It wasn’t until they figured out he’d been at Captain Montgomery’s house earlier that morning that they reached out to Castle.

He’s more than a little curious about how that conversation went, certain the partners he’d left arguing outside their precinct earlier in the week weren’t suddenly doing backflips about his offer to help them with a clandestine investigation. Sure, he and Esposito had found enough common ground on which to stand while pushing an arson investigator too far, but Castle held little hope that their tenuous arrangement could withstand any real pressure. And Ryan, while probably far stronger than anyone gave him credit for, had seemed nauseated by the very thought of being caught by their captain. His reaction didn’t make much sense for an NYPD homicide detective, but perhaps Catholic guilt ran that deep.

Regardless of why, or however reluctantly they opted to call him, he’s on his way to meet them at Montgomery’s house now, having bailed on his own partner with a lame excuse so he could hurry to speak to the widow of Beckett’s former captain. When he arrives at the home, Castle ducks past the CSU techs working the scene and finds Ryan and Esposito talking to Evelyn Montgomery.

Slipping into place right behind the other two detectives – standing in a room Beckett cannot, but respecting the lead her boys need to take with this case – he hears Mrs. Montgomery explaining that she’d awakened to the sound of an intruder and walked in to find a man rifling through their filing cabinet. She further notes that she wasn’t even supposed to be home, and the fact she was is both fortunate and not, but she was able to shoot the man in the shoulder just before he left with Montgomery’s laptop and some of his old case files and notes.

Ryan and Esposito trade raised eyebrows and disappointment; Castle assumes they found only the dead thief, and none of the stolen information.

After winding their way through a few more questions and answers, the boys thank her and apologize for the trouble, asking her to call them directly if she thinks of anything more specific that might have been of interest to the intruder. It’s mostly unnecessary given their understanding of the much larger picture, but she silently smiles her agreement before they turn for the door.

When the three men reach the sidewalk outside Montgomery’s house, Castle finally speaks up. “I suppose we’ve all jumped to the same conclusion here?”

“Well, we can run Orlando Costas against Montgomery’s old cases,” Ryan suggests. “Maybe it’s really as simple as a guy looking for revenge.”

“By taking a laptop and files?” Esposito asks.

Ryan just shrugs, looking far from convinced by his own argument. “Looking for other names to go after?”

“Bullshit,” Espo scoffs. “No way would that have ended with Costas dead in an alley immediately afterward. He was used by someone a lot higher up who ran a low-risk, high-reward game to get whatever information they needed from Montgomery’s. It’s about Beckett and her mom and dirty cops and shit that’s gonna keep happening until we end it.”

Castle shakes his head. “By why is this starting up again now? Beckett and Montgomery were killed months ago and nobody went after the files back then. You guys investigated, hit a bunch of dead ends, and these cases are still ice cold today.”

Whatever look he receives from Ryan is fleeting, the detective choosing to watch himself kick at a couple of pebbles on the cement instead, but Esposito’s glare lands hard. “Gee, I wonder what changed around here?”

There’s no chance to respond, Castle left alone when Ryan and Esposito hurry into their car and peel away from the curb with a squeal.

* * *

 

“Of course they bailed on you, Castle. They have no real reason to trust you and the timing looks really fucking terrible.”

Beckett is pacing his living room – again – angry and scared and more than a little hopeless. He’s caught her up on the morning’s events, ending with the admission that he may not be able to work his way back into the investigation. She’s upset that Montgomery’s family is dealing with any further fallout from her captain’s mistakes, frustrated that she can’t do anything to make it better. More than that, Castle thinks she tired of being stuck in his apartment, stuck in a world that’s been done with her for a while now.

He needs to find a way to help her leave here, even if it’s the last thing he wants.

“Okay, yeah, I get that. But I haven’t _done_ anything,” he argues. “I mean, I obviously haven’t done anything in the sense that I’m part of this conspiracy, but I haven’t even done anything to help yet. Who cares that I read some case files and pissed off an arson investigator who knows absolutely nothing? Nobody’s any closer to solving this, so why did the bad guys hit Montgomery’s now?”

“I don’t know. The boat hasn’t been rocked, but someone’s reacting as though it was.”

“So, what do I do about it? I feel like we’ve been as smart about this as possible and we’re right back where we started,” he mutters. “And probably further back than that.”

Her body rises and falls on a sigh. “Well, I’m open to dumb ideas now.”

They’re quiet for a long time before he finally turns toward her. “I think I’ve got one.”

* * *

 

It’s at least as crazy as it is dumb, but as Castle and Beckett wait for Ryan and Esposito to arrive at the apartment, Castle accepts that it may be their only chance to move forward. When he’d first suggested they confess Kate’s presence to the boys, she’d laughed, hysteria stirred with a touch of tragedy and fear. She barely believed her own supernatural existence, even with the evidence at her powerless fingertips, so it seemed impossible that they’d convince two men who wouldn’t be able to see her at all. Castle insisted she could offer up bits of personal knowledge about their lives – “Remember in the movie _Ghost_ , Beckett? He said ‘ditto’ and it worked!” – but he’s pretty sure she’s been a skeptic for too long to be hopeful.

Still, she’s standing beside him now.

Originally, he wondered if it might be better to meet the boys elsewhere for the big revelation; the familiarity of Beckett’s former home had already aroused the suspicion Espo liked to haul around on his back and would likely encourage the paranoia Ryan has kept poorly contained. However, Castle’s own anxiousness when he called the 12th led him to overcompensate with hospitality, and he ended up inviting the detectives to his apartment instead. Even more surprising than the words tumbling out of his mouth was Esposito’s response that Ryan had already requested the chance to talk to them both, after hours and away from the precinct.

“I’m still not convinced about you, bro, but we might as well have it out at your place. We’ll meet you there tonight.”

So now Castle moves to answer the knock at the door as though he isn’t about to tell two NYPD detectives the most bizarre ghost story they’ve ever heard. He smiles tentatively when the door swings open, nodding at Esposito’s stiff greeting and waving a silent Ryan toward the couch. When Ryan drops onto the cushion and slumps forward, his head in his hands, Castle turns back toward Espo.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Looks like he’s as excited to be here with you as I am,” Esposito answers. “Though he insisted all three of us should be at this little chat.”

Castle holds his hands in front of him in defense and resists the temptation to blurt out that there are actually four of them. “I get that you’re pissed, but---”

“Stop right there. I’m gonna say a few things before Ryan does whatever he’s doing, then you can go last. And I’m pissed at this entire situation, but you wouldn’t even be included in this little conversation if I thought you had a direct hand in killing Montgomery or Beckett.”

Ryan’s looking up now and Castle glances toward Beckett before he nods for Espo to continue. “Our M.E. got a preliminary DNA match on skin found beneath the nails of Orlando Costas and it’s the same as the DNA found from Beckett’s shooting.”

“So, Costas was definitely killed by the same person who killed Beckett.” It’s not a question and Esposito doesn’t bother answering. And Castle doesn’t dare look to his side now. “Have you told Captain Gates?”

“No way. But we hit a money trail and followed it back to the girlfriend. Finally got her to admit Costas got a call from someone he knew in the service, which backs up the military connection we guessed from the sniper shot that killed Beckett. She didn’t have a name, but told us Costas met up with him at a church on State Street. And long story short, we got surveillance footage—”

“Churches have surveillance? What is this world coming to?” Castle feels three sets of eyes narrow at the interruption and he dips his head in apology. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“I wanted to run our mystery man’s face through the Army CID, but Ryan stopped me.”

“Why?” Castle asks. “That seems like the fastest way to identify him, right?”

“He hasn’t explained yet. Just put me off until you could be here, too.” Esposito shifts his attention to Ryan. “So, now would be good time to fill us in. It’s late and I’m tracking down this asshole tomorrow morning one way or another.”

“No. You guys—” Ryan shakes his head and starts again. “We have to stop.”

There’s a long pause before Espo asks the obvious. “Stop what?”

“The investigation. We have to stop.”

“Aren’t we over this argument yet? I get that you’re worried about crossing Gates, but with the Costas body drop, we finally have a solid lead to chase. We’ve kept the ties to Beckett quiet and we’ll continue to work this like it’s just a regular case. We’ve got it under control.”

“No, we don’t,” Ryan argues. “They do. And if we don’t stop now, they _will_ kill us, Javi.”

It’s a simple statement, but Castle gets struck with a sharp chill, the kind alerting him to a situation that’s about to get much worse. The slight tremble of Ryan’s warning suggests Gates is the least of their concerns, and he thinks they’re all bracing themselves for whatever else Ryan has to say.

“What’s he talking about?” he hears Beckett hiss. Castle catches himself just before he responds to her directly, refocusing on Ryan and asking him instead.

Ryan stands up, scared of whatever lies beyond the walls of the apartment, but willing to face his partner head-on while Castle witnesses the carnage. “Before Montgomery went into that hangar, he sent a package to someone he trusted and it contained information damaging to the person behind all this. Montgomery was trying to protect Beckett, but the package didn’t arrive until after she had been shot. Afterward, Montgomery’s friend struck a deal with them. If they left the rest of us alone, that package and the information inside would never see the light of day. The only condition was that we had to back off. And that’s the reason we’re alive, Javi. Because we stopped.”

“How does he know this?” Beckett whispers.

“How do you know this?” Esposito asks, fists hard at his side.

“In order for the deal to work, someone had to make sure nobody at the 12th pursued it. Not us, not Gates. Nobody else looking to take up Beckett’s cause.”

“Are you a part of this?” Castle croaks, earning another flash of anger from the three detectives in the room, even if two of them had secretly feared the same.

“I was just trying to keep us safe. This isn’t a murder investigation anymore, they’ve turned it into a war. But then Castle showed up and all eyes are on us again. They know you guys went to see Halstead and this was their response. Montgomery’s friend has kept us protected so far, but he said the deal’s gonna be off if we don’t stop now. It may already be off,” he admits.

“We didn’t need protection, we needed a _lead_ and you sat on this for months.”

Beckett mewls at Castle’s side like an injured animal. “How the hell could he do this?”

“Javi, listen to me –“

“Listen to you? Why should I listen to you? How am I even supposed to trust anything that you say?”

Ryan looks upward, as though there’s a better answer to be found than what he has to offer. “Because I’m your partner. And if that means anything to you, just stop chasing this thing.”

“If it means anything? You’re fucking kidding, right? You kept this secret from me. Stopped me from doing my damn job. From finding Beckett’s killer. I loved her, loved Montgomery, and I thought you did too. This wasn’t your call to make.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he mumbles helplessly. “But I was just doing what I thought was right. I want to make it home to Jenny each night, and I don’t want to lose my partner.”

Esposito’s laugh is laced with fury. “Well, you just did. I’m done.”

There’s really nothing to say after the door slams behind him, the walls rattling in protest. Ryan’s expression carries guilt, frustration, sadness, and a touch of anger, but he only bobs his head for a moment before he shuffles toward the door with an apologetic wave and the mumble of something not meant to be heard.

It’s only when Ryan is gone that Castle realizes he never had a chance to tell the boys Beckett was there listening, slowly shattered by every word.

Maybe it’s better that way.

They’re haunted by enough.


	7. Seven

The phone call comes early the next morning, and while it’s really not much of a surprise, it’s a relief just the same. Esposito, furious at being told to stop his investigation out of some sense of self-preservation is ready to run headfirst at whomever is responsible for the murders of Kate Beckett, Roy Montgomery, and far too many others, and he wants Castle to help him do it.

After Castle ends the call and tosses his phone onto the coffee table alongside Beckett’s elephants, he turns to the woman he’s barely left in the past ten hours. When they’d turned to each other in the wake of Ryan and Esposito’s abrupt departure, he’d taken in the tight lines of her body and the tears yearning to fall and had wisely remained silent. He guessed that she was torn between two men she’d long considered to be brothers, hating to see them fighting at all and unsure of whose side to take in the end; Castle knew he only wanted to side with her.

At some point in the middle of the night, she’d tried to redirect her anger to Castle, blaming him for the way everything had gone so wrong, ignoring the fact that it had been screwed up long before he appeared.

Or before she appeared, if they’re being honest.

Eventually she’d shaken the blind fury, letting it drop from her fingertips as her spine snapped straight, forgoing a spoken apology for a softness offered from a tired hazel gaze instead. And before dawn, they’d agreed to wait for one of the boys to make a move before they forced the next step themselves, hoping Esposito would forge ahead while respecting Ryan’s decision to hang back, and disregarding Montgomery’s mysterious friend entirely. For as long as they could, at least.

Castle had managed to doze on the couch briefly while Alexis moved through the apartment before leaving for school, Beckett remaining settled at her regular post by the window, but both of them had jumped at the sharp chirp of the phone and Espo’s gruff hello.

“Okay, so what did he say?” Beckett asks, bringing him back to the present.

“He didn’t attempt to run they guy through the CID, didn’t want to risk using a system like that to alert anyone who might be involved. Obviously if they knew we were working this when we visited Halstead, they’d catch the CID login even faster,” Castle answers. “But he did study the surveillance footage and identified a key chain the killer had from Eastway car rentals. It’s a lot of cars, and he probably used a fake ID, but it’s a start. Most of Eastway’s locations open in 30 minutes, so Espo will be all over them until he can narrow down the search. Once he gets something solid, he’ll call me back and work with a partner who isn’t too fucking scared of doing his fucking job. His words, not mine.”

That elicits the expected eye roll, but he can tell Beckett would already be banging down the doors of the unfortunate car rental company if she had the ability to bang on anything at all. And though Castle makes an appearance at his own precinct for several hours, he sneaks away that afternoon when Esposito calls with the news that he’s tracked the killer – a man using the name Cole Maddox – to a one block radius on the Lower East Side. Apparently Esposito had offered Ryan one last chance to join them in their crusade, the only words they’d exchanged all day, but Ryan just begged him to get a team in place and go after Maddox the right way.

It’s no real surprise to Castle that this will be a two-man operation. And while Beckett had wanted to tag along, there was no room for distraction, so he slams his car door and jogs across the street by himself to where Esposito waits.

“He’s been renting a room here,” Esposito explains, nodding toward the building behind him. “Management agreed to let us in.”

From that point forward, everything Castle experiences will be remembered as moments of exceptional clarity blunted by the haze of physical and emotional trauma. He and Esposito easily find the stolen files and Montgomery’s wedding album, plus the ominous suggestion that Maddox is on the hunt for another victim. It’s just enough to tip them toward Ryan’s logic and the need for backup, but they’re ambushed before anything more can be done.

The building’s manager is dead in the hallway.

Esposito is knocked out a moment later.

And Castle chases Maddox to the roof for a battle he isn’t destined to win.

But he’s out of other options.

There’s more than a struggle between them, the crack of bones and the scream of strained muscles louder than the whisper of any way out. Castle pleas for information from Maddox, anything about who is behind this years-long war, but is treated to little but a smirk and a few more bruises.

In the end, Maddox leaves him clinging to life, quite literally. Castle has no idea how long he hangs from the edge of the building, hoarse from calling for Esposito – or anyone else – to come save him, but he laments his failures and grasps for the hope that his daughter will live with the kind of happiness that has eluded him for too long. It hurts to know he’s broken something between Ryan and Esposito, and he nearly lets go when he thinks of leaving his mother with too many questions and not enough thanks.

And Beckett, oh _god_ , the way he aches for a woman he barely knows.

By the time Ryan and an NYPD tactical unit arrive to pull him to safety, he is just starting to make peace with everything, aware of the many ways the world will go on fine without him; the face of Captain Victoria Gates suggests she and the rest of the world aren’t quite done with him yet.

* * *

 

“I’m so sorry, Beckett. I’m so sorry.” She startles at his apology, so he tries to clarify. “I wanted to put this to rest for you and instead I let you down.”

Beckett reaches for him as though she can help remove the rain-soaked jacket from his shivering body. “You almost died and all you can think about is _me_?”

He’s been back in his apartment for several minutes now, but has yet to move past the small entryway, still unsure of where he belongs. After the rooftop rescue, and Esposito being found outside Maddox’s room, official punishments were swift and severe. Both men were treated to immediate suspensions and Castle’s captain had warned him that his short time with the department meant he wasn’t entitled to the same understanding that might be extended to Beckett’s team at the 12th. Everything would be evaluated by a review board at a later date, but nobody seemed optimistic.

When he’d left his precinct, he wasn’t ready to be the cause of any more sorrow in Beckett’s life. Or death. Instead, he wandered through the unexpected rain and sought penance on a swing set left untouched in the dark, only making his way home when he couldn’t stop missing the women he hadn’t stopped hurting.

“It’s been pretty damn hard to stop thinking about you,” he admits. “And I will never be sorry that you came back here or that I can see you or that I agreed to help with this crazy case. I’m not sorry that I got suspended and I’m not sorry that I can barely stand because my body is about to give up on me. I’m only sorry that I haven’t made everything better for you. I’m sorry I haven’t been what you needed me to be.”

She says nothing for quite a while, furrowing her brow until some decision has been made and then silently – always silently – she slips away with no need to ask him to follow.

They both know he will.

When they reach his bedroom, she lets him pass her and nods for him to take off the wet leather jacket he continues to wear in defense or atonement. Then without a word, she closes the short distance between them; though some part of him acknowledges she will never make contact, he backs up until he’s against the wall and he can almost imagine the warmth of her breath along the underside of his jaw when she finally speaks.

“Maybe I haven’t been left behind because I still needed to solve my mom’s case. Maybe it was never about that. Maybe I just needed to learn how to let go of it.”

“But will you – can you?” he stammers.

Her nose nearly brushes his collar. “I have to. The past 24 hours have changed everything, from the way Ryan and Espo turned on each other last night, even though they want so much of the same justice for me, to the fact that you could have left your daughter without a father and I _know_ how much losing a parent can destroy a person. I broke everything on my fall down the rabbit hole and ended up dead at the bottom of it. I can’t wait around for the rest of you to join me.”

“Do you really think it’s that simple? That it’s like The Wizard of Oz and you’ve had the power to click your heels together this whole time?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers with a shrug. “But I do know it’s time to try.”

A wave of immense sadness washes over him, but he can’t dwell on it when she continues.

“I also know that you’ve made a lot of things better for me. You’ve been exactly what I needed you to be, and I’ll never be able to thank you for that, to give you back everything you deserve.” She pauses to close her eyes, the smallest sigh of regret escaping in that same moment. “You should take off your clothes. You’re freezing.”

There’s little she gives away with the suggestion, no humor and no uncertainty. It’s a quiet observation, and though he knows it masks so much more, he’s powerless to refuse.

She only eases away to give him room to untuck his shirt before he moves to fumble through each small button and peel the material from his body, somehow managing to kick his shoes aside at the same time. When he starts to unfasten his belt, he studies her face for any sign that this isn’t what she’d meant, but she holds his stare and finally blinks away her faux apathy, nothing but raw want in its place.

His belt clatters to the floor, his pants quieter when they fall in the next second. He steps out of them and pushes the pile away, bending down to remove his socks before he rises to face her with the kind of vulnerability he hasn’t felt in years.

Maybe ever.

And he thinks she knows.

Whatever is about to happen is likely to leave a scar, but it’s one he’ll treasure, the recklessness something that will be remembered fondly, even if his heart will never be the same.

Beckett – or Kate, really, the detective’s surname dropped before she’d entered his bedroom – brings her hand to his shoulder, her palm less than an inch from his skin. “Goosebumps,” she murmurs.

He thinks she’s moved closer again, but he can’t stop looking at her hand as it coasts over the surface of his arm, turning to watch the other do the same until both hands are aligned with his, fingers that should naturally tangle to form a knowing grasp and carry them to his bed. Instead she tilts her head toward where she wants him to lie alone.

The chill coursing through his body hasn’t fully dissipated, in spite of the growing heat between them, but he refuses to crawl beneath the covers; if she can’t touch, then she should at least be able to see. Kate smiles her gratitude before stepping to the side of the bed and resting her hands over his once again.

“Follow mine,” she commands, and so he does.

He’s prepared to move his hands over his chest and probably across his abdomen, ready to let his own fingers travel along his skin at her direction, but she quickly reminds him of the agreement they’d made the first night they met.

Their relationship isn’t one-way.

They’re partners.

And so she lifts her hands to her chest and waits for him to do the same, the fabric of her white t-shirt and the reality of her existence acting as barriers that his imagination is all too willing to overcome, and he swears he can feel her breathe, longs to memorize every curve for as long as he’s allowed to explore each one of them. Nothing more is said as they move back and forth for several minutes, her body to his and back again, touching each other without making any contact at all, learning without having to be taught.

By the time they near the end, their hands settled into a perfect rhythm over him, he tries so hard to hold on, to make the night last his lifetime, but he can only gasp into the quiet room and beg her to stay close.

She’s by his side when he drifts off to sleep much later, still there when he’s awakened more than once by a nightmare and the relentless pain from his rooftop fight. It’s only when the rising sun offers the first slivers of a new day that he realizes she’s no longer there.

And he wonders if their one night together was also their goodbye.


	8. Eight

Whether it was the pain, the exhaustion, or the sorrow – or some combination of all three – Castle is grateful for whatever allowed him a couple more hours of sleep after the sunlight had first awakened him; he hadn’t been ready to find out whether Kate’s willingness to let go of her mother’s case had been enough to set her free. It’s selfish of him to want her to stay where she doesn’t belong, but he begs some higher power for the chance to see her one last time.

In the end, he isn’t left to wonder about Kate’s presence for long, nearly colliding with her when he hurries to answer the persistent chirp of the cell phone he’d left in his living room the night before, ignoring every injury demanding his attention along the way. He stumbles when he sees her, wants to stop until he’s tipped his heart upside down, but she offers a subtle shake of her head and looks toward the sound that has started up again.

Their investigation has brought more than a few unexpected conversations, and the latest comes about when a sheepish Kevin Ryan asks for a few minutes to talk. Castle puts the phone on speaker for Kate’s benefit and forgives the interruption by the man who’d helped save his life the day before.

“Hey, Castle. I’m sure you’re at home recovering after your fight with Maddox, but I need to talk to you about everything that’s happened since,” Ryan blurts, the weary way his words are slurred together suggesting he’s slept very little in the wake of yesterday’s events.

“It doesn’t sound like good news,” Castle mutters. “And I assume it goes way beyond Esposito being suspended and me possibly being out of a job.”

“Good guess. We went through the stuff you found in the place Maddox was renting and we’ve been able to track down the guy he was after.”

“Montgomery’s friend.”

Ryan hums, the unhappiness in his voice remaining. “Yeah, Michael Smith, an attorney. We figured out where he used to work and got lucky that one of the calls he made to me was rerouted through a wireless network. Then we traced that IP to a yacht club, compared the member list to his former firm, and pulled all his personal info after that.”

“Put on some damn pants and go get him,” Kate hisses from behind him.

“Great,” Castle says, doing what he can to hide his annoyance as he throws a scowl over his shoulder. “So we pay him a visit and get past the bullshit deal Captain Montgomery made. We get details about whatever is in the file and figure out who is at the top of this thing. Gates is involved now, whether Espo wanted her to be or not, so we can throw some real weight behind it.”

“Well, paying him a visit now will require a trip to the hospital and the hope that he regains consciousness.”

“What happened – oh, no.” Castle pauses, realizing why Ryan sounds so bothered. “Maddox found him first.”

“And there’s more. Some uniforms and I actually got to Smith’s place early this morning, found him there and called the EMTs. There was a file burning in the fireplace, but then Smith tried to talk, managed part of an address.”

“Because there’s another copy of the file out there.”

“There was,” Ryan confirms

“There _was_?” Beckett growls.

“So Maddox got there first, too,” Castle guesses. “And we have nothing.”

“In this case, it was better that he got there first. Smith had the second file rigged to blow, so both Maddox and our best lead are now in a billion tiny pieces.”

“Well, you had one hell of a morning,” Castle says, beginning to pace alongside where Beckett started just a few seconds ago. “What are we supposed to do now? Sit around and hope for Smith to wake up?”

Ryan groans, his tone dropping lower than before. “I have no idea. And I’m sure it looks like I’ve been a lot of the problem here, but with Javi suspended and Smith half-dead, I’m really all alone on this now. Maybe we could’ve convinced Montgomery to work with us, but he’s gone and we’ve barely coped with that. And Beckett?” He pauses, and Castle can hear the deep breath he takes. “I honestly don’t know how to do any of this without her. I mean, aside from the fact that this is has been her case all along, she made us better detectives. Without her leading us – leading _me_ – I’m completely lost. And I miss her.”

There’s no way Castle will chance a look at Kate now; he caught something that sounded like a muffled whimper and he isn’t prepared to face her again until Ryan is done.

“Well, we don’t have much choice. We hope Smith pulls through so we can get answers that way, but if he doesn’t, at least we know who he is now and can try to dig into his background. We can find out if he knew anyone involved in this other than Captain Montgomery. We can also try to learn more about Cole Maddox, find his military connection and where he went rogue. There has to be something that will lead us to the top, and I’ll be here to help until we find it. From everything I know, Beckett deserves nothing less.”

Ryan hums again, not trusting his voice to be steady enough for anything else, and eventually mumbles something resembling a goodbye when he realizes Castle has nothing else to say. When the call is ended and the phone tossed aside, Castle turns to where Kate has finally stilled in the living room. She doesn’t speak, so he makes an attempt to offer something reassuring.

“I meant what I said. I’ll be here to help for as long as it takes.”

“How great for you,” she retorts.

“Whoa, Kate, what’s with the attitude?”

She flinches at the tenderness carrying her first name, but her glare is unwavering. “I just think it’s nice that you actually have a choice about it.”

He knows she’s frustrated, or probably somewhere far beyond that, but it still hurts to hear the bitterness in her tone. And as much as his body is begging him to collapse onto the couch, Castle remains standing, facing off against the woman seemingly set on fighting the one person she still can.

“Look, I might have a say in whether I keep helping Ryan and Espo, but I didn’t ask to share my apartment with a goddamn ghost. I’ve risked everything and I’m not sorry about that, but I don’t need this turned around like you being stuck here is my fault.”

“I’m not saying it’s your fault,” Kate argues. “But no good has come from the two of us working together and it doesn’t look like things are going to get better any time soon. I thought swearing I’d let go of the case might be enough, but it wasn’t. I thought maybe some closure with you last night would help me leave, but –”

“Wait a minute,” he interrupts. “Last night – everything that happened between us – was just a way for you to disappear? It meant nothing –”

“More?” she finishes, crossing her arms in front of her. “How the hell could it mean more, Castle? I’m dead. ‘A goddamn ghost’ as you so eloquently put it. Not. Fucking. Real.”

“Yes, thank you so much for reminding me. I haven’t spent any time thinking about how fleeting this is, how you and I will never really stand in front of a murder board and exchange theories and finish each other’s sentences until we figure out who the killer is. How we’ll never get to have a late-night drink with Ryan and Espo after a crazy case or dodge the glare of an annoyed captain. Or how we’ll never get to share the intimacy we imagined last night because it was just that – _imagined_. I haven’t tossed and turned every single night thinking about how unfair any of that is, so thanks for reminding me that none of it is fucking real.”

There’s a touch of fury in each of his words, but spitting them at her isn’t enough to make him feel any better. The rest of his anger is unleashed a moment later in a kick to the coffee table, his bare foot managing to catch it at an angle that upends the table and sends the few things resting on the surface flying toward the wall. A couple of file folders he’d left there are now a mess of papers scattered on the floor and Beckett’s family of elephants lies as broken as he feels.

Cracked. Empty.

Empty now, at least, though a small cassette tape rests just inches from what he assumes was the mama elephant. Castle’s anger thumps in his chest and he can’t tear his eyes away from the floor while he forces himself to make some sense of what just happened.

“Castle? What is that?” Beckett croaks, the stunned silence gone.

“A tape.”

“Thanks, detective. I know _what_ it is, but where did it come from?”

He’s staring, still humming with the pain of their fight, almost afraid to touch the tape, so sure that it’s everything they need and nothing he wants.

“They’re your elephants, right? Where did you get them? Why do they mean so much to you?”

Kate reaches toward them uselessly and her answer is no surprise. “They were my mom’s.”

“Okay, first things first,” he sighs. “Let me find a way to play it. For all we know, it’s nothing important at all. Maybe the tape’s not even hers.”

“You don’t believe that,” she says. “You’ve been at this job for too long to miss the moment everything in a case changes.”

And of course, she’s right. When they’re finally able to listen, they hear the voices of Roy Montgomery, before he became Captain at the 12th, and William Bracken, a sitting U.S. Senator who had once been the Assistant District Attorney, as the two men discuss blackmail, conspiracy, and murder. The mention of Johanna Beckett’s name causes his heart to clench, a chill holding him still for several seconds; he can’t imagine what effect it’s having on the woman by his side. And after replaying the tape enough to quell the nauseating surprise, Castle tracks down Ryan and meets up with him to hand over the evidence.

Several hours pass while a team at the 12th works with the DA’s office to figure out the preliminary charges against Senator Bracken, and Castle and Beckett grow tired of simmering in the silent stress while they’re left to wait for an update. They manage to kill some time exchanging stories of high-profile cases they’ve solved over the years, but eventually, they decide to spend the afternoon recording some personal thoughts Kate wants written down. Castle’s pen flies over the pages of a moleskin notebook as she speaks from somewhere deep inside, a lifetime of wounds open and bleeding freely. Now the two of them are recovering from the emotional release, standing side by side as they look out the window at the busy lives carrying on in the city below.

“Why haven’t we heard anything from Ryan yet?” Beckett asks softly.

“Even with Gates pulling every possible string, which she’s already agreed to do, they still need to be meticulous with this one. These cases – even yours – have been cold a long time, so while the tape broke it all wide open this morning, nobody is going to risk screwing it up by moving too fast.”

“But there’s time to build an even stronger case in preparation for the actual trial,” she argues. “And with the miracle of Smith regaining consciousness this afternoon, they’ve got even more evidence coming. There’s no reason they can’t arrest Bracken now.”

“And I’m sure they will.” He pauses, shifting just enough to watch Kate’s profile as she gazes at the bright sky. “Listen, I’m sorry about everything I said earlier. I know this has been harder on you than it could ever be for me. And as much as I want you to stay, I know you’re ready to go. I want you to be able to go.”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “It will be harder for you because you’re the one being left behind. It’s always harder on the ones left behind. And I’m sorry, too.” Her eyes brim with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall, even as her voice shakes. “I just wish this were a book so someone could rewrite the ending.”

This has been out of his hands from the very beginning and out of hers for longer than that. He hesitates before saying anything else, any confession meaningless in their faux reality; in the end, the words are all he has.

“In another version of the story, I think I could have loved you,” Castle whispers.

“And with my mom’s murder behind me, I think I could have loved you back.”

* * *

 

It’s late when the call finally comes, but Castle has just enough time to join Captain Gates and Detectives Ryan and Esposito at the end of a fundraiser being held by Senator William Bracken at a nearby hotel. Esposito’s suspension has been at least temporarily lifted, and while Castle’s position within the NYPD is a bit less certain, there is no denying his right to witness the arrest firsthand, Beckett’s boys adamant that he be there.

Kate is there, too, the emotion in her eyes far too varied and raw to be interpreted by anyone wishing to give her the privacy she deserves. Castle keeps his distance and focuses on the triumphant takedown of a man whose arrogance is only marred by flashes of fear when he realizes what has happened, handcuffed in front of a once-supportive crowd and dozens of cameras. It’s chaos once Bracken is in custody, Ryan and Espo off to handle the overwhelming responsibility they face and Castle jostled by a hundred people on their phones trying to share the excitement of a political scandal most have never seen up close.

By the time the hotel ballroom is mostly clear, Kate is nowhere to be found and Castle realizes he has no choice but to meet her back at his apartment instead; they’ll have to say their goodbyes there.

It’s only when he kicks his front door shut behind him that his body tingles with the sixth sense that failed him so terribly the night he first met Kate, his intuition heightened now and his chest left hollow. There’s little reason to chase someone he knows isn’t there, but he can’t help it.

“Beckett?” he calls. “Kate?”

The responding silence is no surprise, but he doesn’t give up, letting the sound of her name echo in each room before he returns to the living room window – her window – and looks toward the sky that has turned stunningly dark. It becomes difficult to swallow and there is nothing left to say, not tonight anyway, so he simply offers the slightest nod and a smile.

Maybe it’s not the ending he would have written, but it’s an ending just the same.


	9. Nine

By the time Ryan and Esposito approach his table, Castle is well into his strawberry milkshake and Lanie Parish has stolen at least a dozen of his fries. He’d only met the woman a few days ago, but they’d hit it off surprisingly quickly and she’d agreed to help him with his plan once she’d heard what he needed and why.

A letter from Kate had helped, too.

Even without half of Kate’s skepticism, Castle had wondered how crazy it was to be carrying handwritten messages from a dead woman – scratched out in his bold script no less – to the friends she’d left behind. Still, there was so little she had asked from him during her stay in his apartment and he’d had no interest in denying her this. He decided his first delivery should be to the best friend of hers he hadn’t met yet, though he’d been told Lanie and Esposito were dating and had heard plenty of stories about the M.E. from Kate, so he’d stopped by the morgue one evening to introduce himself.

Castle had been greeted with a raised eyebrow and more than a little sass, similar in some ways to Kate, though with far less of Beckett’s well-earned melancholy. But once he’d handed over the letter and politely overlooked Lanie’s tears, she’d nodded through the rest of their conversation and they’d planned to meet the boys for lunch.

“Since when do you two know each other?” Esposito asks. “And why didn’t you tell me you’d be here together?”

“Hi, Detective Esposito, it’s so nice to see you, too.” Castle quips.

Lanie snags another fry and smiles up at Espo. “We met earlier this week and I didn’t say anything because you’d just worry about me being swept off my feet by this very handsome and charming colleague of yours.” She winks at Castle. “Now, sit down and relax because he has gifts for both of you.”

“Gifts?” Ryan echoes.

“They’re not from me, exactly,” Castle says, shifting to make room for Ryan as the nerves settle in. “But go ahead and order your food and then I’ll explain.”

The lunch orders are placed, but Esposito barely stops studying Castle. The two had parted on good enough terms, riding the high of arresting the man responsible for a cascade of murders that had become personal, but tension lingers between them, the wistful shadow of a loss neither really understands. And now Esposito is probably all too aware that Castle is sipping at Beckett’s favorite shake while sitting in Beckett’s favorite booth in Beckett’s favorite diner.

That theory is confirmed a moment later when Esposito leans over the table as though an interrogation is about to begin. “I assume it’s not a coincidence that we’re at Remy’s?”

“Javier Esposito, will you please relax?” Lanie interrupts, swatting at the man’s shoulder. “We all know you guys have been busting your asses in the aftermath of Bracken’s arrest, but Ryan has managed to be polite and there’s no reason you have to act all pissed off just because you don’t like making new friends.”

Esposito growls, even as he looks somewhat admonished. “Sorry, Castle. Go ahead.”

Turning to the bag he’s kept close to his side, Castle reaches for two envelopes and the accompanying presents; he’s hoping they act as the sort of celebratory bribe he and Kate had envisioned, a way to win the boys over in the face of something otherwise ridiculous. He pushes the gifts across the table first, nodding toward them as he says, “You can start by opening those, then the letters will tell you more.”

Ryan, the more eager and less distrustful of the partners, reaches for his and tears through the tissue paper to reveal a bottle of St. Miriam scotch, the sight of which makes Castle a bit envious, even if he was the one who’d wrapped it himself.

“Hey, this is from the Old Haunt case, when we found Beau James’ stash. How did you manage to get your hands on one of these?”

Castle says nothing, gesturing at the envelope instead. Esposito straightens as though he wants to say something, but Lanie holds up her hand and keeps him quiet as Ryan unfolds the handwritten note and begins to read silently.

_Hey Ryan,_

_Let me start by saying I know this message seems crazy, but I also know you’re far more likely to accept these words and my gift than I would have under similar circumstances. While I always rolled my eyes at things like fate and magic, you allow your heart to lead and you trust it enough to follow. Please keep doing that and don’t let anyone make you think your way is wrong. I know I didn’t encourage you enough while I was by your side, and for that, I’m sorry. You were always open in the ways I was so damn closed off, and if there’s anything I know now, it’s that the failure to let yourself love and be loved will leave you with an empty “if only.”_

_As you’ve probably noticed, the bottle in front of you is from the stash we confiscated almost a year ago. Though the city officially took possession of the scotch – other than the drinks our team shared that night – Montgomery secretly gave me a bottle to save for a special occasion. Lanie was holding on to it for me, so hopefully she didn’t give Castle too much grief when he went to fetch it, though I imagine that scene would have been worth watching no matter what. Anyway, I was going to give this to you and Jenny as a wedding gift, but it will work just as well as a toast to your victory over Senator Bracken and the justice you’ve found for Montgomery, my mom, and me. Expensive alcohol and my eternal thanks will never be enough, but they’re all I have to give._

_If there’s any lingering trouble between you and Espo, I’m sorry that my case had to be the cause of any of it. And while you think I made you a better detective, I promise you managed that all on your own. You don’t need to be lost without me, but I miss you, too._

_All my best, forever,_

_Beckett_

It’s no surprise to find Ryan’s eyes red when they finally rise to meet Castle’s. “I don’t understand. Are you some kind of psychic?”

There’s nothing accusing in his tone, just confusion, and Castle can’t do much more than shrug. “No, I think she needed some help being ready to leave this world behind and I was in the right place at the right time. It’s a long story, but maybe we can have a drink and talk when things calm down.”

Ryan nods, but Esposito is growing impatient. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m done waiting,” he grumbles, ripping his envelope open without looking at his present first.

_Javi,_

_I miss you so damn much it hurts. And please stop glaring at Castle long enough to read what I have to say. He’s only doing what I asked._

_You were there for me on some dark days, helped me deal with my obsession and grief in ways most wouldn’t understand, and I am so grateful to have had you on my side. You’re fiercely loyal and I want to thank you for continuing to fight for me even now that I’m gone. You and Ryan have worked so hard on this case and I am so proud of the detective you’ve become._

_Apparently, Castle “knows a guy” and was able to get you a luxury suite for a night at Yankee Stadium after I told him you’d been going to baseball games since you were three, just like me. I hope being there brings back nothing but great memories for you. And hey, if you can drop your phony alpha male act for a minute, maybe you can let Castle tag along. At the very least, invite him over so you can kick his ass at Assassin’s Creed or something. He could stand to be humbled every so often, and you could use a friend._

_Take good care of Lanie and Ryan, and let them take good care of you, too. You don’t always have to be the tough one, I promise._

_Love you,_

_Beckett_

Not another word is spoken as Esposito tucks the letter into his jacket pocket and focuses on opening the tickets he now knows await him in the small box resting on the table. As Castle had hoped, the sheer magnitude of the gift is enough to soften the cynicism left behind by Kate’s words and Espo won’t pick a fight with him now; maybe there’s no need to fight at all. Everyone at the table will believe what they want, to the degree that they choose to believe it, and Castle isn’t concerned with anything more. Kate needed the peace that came with saying goodbye, and he’s delivered just that.

And maybe more importantly, he’s also brought some semblance of closure to Jim Beckett, having visited Kate’s father a couple of nights before, once the news about Bracken’s arrest had faded from the nationwide headlines. That letter had been far longer and more personal – sometimes uncomfortably so – but if there had been any question about the man’s reaction to the unexpected message from his daughter, it had been laid to rest when he called Castle the next morning and simply said, “Thank you for giving me what I never got when my wife died. It means more than you know.”

* * *

 

After lunch with Lanie and the boys, Ryan having promised to call him as soon as things are a bit quieter at the 12th, Castle stops at the cemetery where Kate is buried. It’s not his first time visiting her grave, nor will it be the last, but he feels a shift in the way the wind strikes him this afternoon, the autumn air both peaceful and invigorating. He talks to her for quite a while; at least for now, the memory of her voice is clear enough for him to imagine her side of the conversation, too.

Eventually he returns to his apartment and settles onto the couch with coffee, his favorite pen, and a stack of notebooks he’d kept out of sight for too many years. The official decision regarding his position with the NYPD has yet to be made, a meeting with his captain scheduled for later in the week, and while there’s far more hope for leniency in the wake of a huge arrest and a clear reason for having interfered with another precinct’s case, Castle has found himself less concerned with the outcome as each day passes.

It’s true that Kate’s sudden appearance in his home and the excitement of the investigation that followed had reignited a spark he’d thought long lost. At first, Castle had thought he was rediscovering his love of police work, the thrill of being a detective and seeking justice for victims and their loved ones. And now, while at least some of that is true, he’s realized that what Kate brought back into his life is so much bigger than that.

She gave him back his love of the story.

Some of it was subtle; he’d found himself lost in observation more than usual, studying everything about Kate in an attempt to understand each of her emotions, memorize every one of her expressions. That grew to a deeper interest in her relationships with her family and friends, the motivation that drove each of them to interact with him in their own way, all influenced by their love for her. The characters in her narrative.

Then there were the more obvious signs, the search for the plot itself, figuring out the way the mystery played out from beginning to end, each answer bringing about more questions and the intense need to finish it off with a satisfying conclusion. Means, motive, and opportunity. The good guys and the bad. And sure, all of that is crucial to good detective work, too, but he’s ready to travel a different path after having spent time with Kate, his long-buried dreams back for a second chance.

“Still thinking about trying to write again?” Alexis asks as she sits across from him, running a finger over the worn spines of his notebooks. “Looking back through your old stuff for ideas?”

“I am,” he replies. “Though I’m not sure I’ll have to look far for inspiration. I think it’s already found me.”

She offers a careful smile, acutely aware when he’s holding something back. “You always did tell the best bedtime stories. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as relaxed as you have been since your suspension started, so maybe this is a good thing.”

“You think you can handle having a world-famous bestselling author for a father?”

“Well, you’re already incredibly modest.”

Castle laughs and shakes his head as she wanders back down the hallway to her room. Then he reaches for the notebooks full of a few half-written stories and the ideas for several more, all abandoned when he’d allowed the mother of his college sweetheart to shame him into a more reliable career choice. Grinning at the innocence woven into his words, he realizes he knows so much more about life now, the world full of such highs and lows, and he is ready to embrace them all.

His years of experience as a homicide detective will certainly help with authenticity, and he’s not afraid of the effort it will take to reach such a lofty goal. He knows it will all be worth it when some version of Kate – and Castle himself, of course – come to life in the next great mystery novel.

Maybe he can write them a happier ending, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired entirely by a gifset you can find at leopoldjamesfitzs.tumblr.com/post/115922205455 and I appreciate that she allowed me to run with the idea here. Viewing the gifset will also give you all a glimpse at how this story ends, so spoiler warnings apply.


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